


Sting's Crush

by fat_coffee_mugs



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, fluff mostly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-03-17 11:30:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3527765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fat_coffee_mugs/pseuds/fat_coffee_mugs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sting never thought he was into the hot, slightly emo type till he noticed him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

“You’re staring at him again.”

“What?”

“Sting. _Dude_.” The pink headed teenager jutted his face out in utter disbelief. In the few seconds he’d kept his mouth shut, his best friend had already started his little dreamer-boy routine again.

“Dammit, no, I’m not staring, not staring at all.”

Natsu just looked at his friend, smirking. “Who would’ve known, Sting Eucliffe, the ladies man, crushing over a little—”

At this, Sting snapped completely out of his reverie. “Ladies man? Asshat, you know I’ve been out for what, three years already?”

Natsu’s smirk didn’t leave his face. “Doesn’t stop _them_.” he said pointedly, nodding to a gaggle of girls whispering at a table near the end of the court. When Sting turned to look, they erupted in a small poof of giggling all at once, not at all attempting to be discreet in their watching them. Sting gave a small, annoyed huff before turning around, awkwardly steepling his fingers on the food court table.

It was particularly pleasant weekend morning, sometime after eight, sometime before noon— a perfect time of day, really, for Sting to be not working. His shift over in Forever 21 would start in another ten minutes, and well, it was safe to say his delaying actually getting to the store was a bit of a routine. Every Saturday or Sunday that he came in, he had the same routine— drive to the mall, buy breakfast, then lounge around the food court with Natsu till the last minute.

As previously suggested by Natsu, Sting hadn’t been all that successful at hiding his recent infatuation— or, to be more blunt, recent infatuator. Sting wasn’t exactly embarrassed of it, I mean, anyone looking at the babe— _guy_ couldn’t help but realize. Realize that he was way too fucking hot.

The guy had started showing up a couple of weeks ago, and it hadn’t been long before he caught Sting’s eye. Every morning for the last five weekends, he would show up at promptly 10am and sit at the same exact chair in the cafeteria, in the corner next to the artificial poinsettia bushes. Then he would open a black book, slip on a pair of (surprise!) black reading glasses, and read, for at least an hour, before promptly getting up and walking out of the cafeteria.

Natsu had teased him enough times, saying that he never knew Sting was into the emo type, which, you know, was pretty much true, but it barely subdued Sting’s crush. He thought the group of girls that seemed to find him every other second were a bit stupid not to be noticing the hunk reading a book over there. Honestly, were they blind? Who could overlook those red, devilishly handsome eyes, skin as smooth as marble, that raven hair that seemed to fly in the indoor mall’s breeze. Even from thirty feet away, Sting thought they were probably destined. He sighed, resting his chin in his palm and continuing to stare at his overblown crush.

“Jesus christ, are you even listening to me?”

“Huh?” Sting raised his head, and his friend groaned. “Dammit…”

“Just talk to him,” his pink haired friended told him, slurping from his tall drink.

Sting shook his head, taking the opportunity to glance back at the dark haired guy. His eyes remained ever focused on his book. Gods, he was handsome.

“Sting, if you look over there with those dreamy eyes one more time, I’m gonna call Gajeel and make him give you the looking-tough-in-public talk again.”

Sting’s eyes widened in horror. “Not the _looking-tough-in-public_ talk,” he whispered.

Natsu nodded, crossing his arms. His face was totally serious.

Sting fell back in his seat, groaning. Yes, the proud, fabulously hot, Forever 21 employee was stressing out over a boy. He hadn’t had a date in months, and then this guy comes in, and it’s like flirting became an entirely different language for Sting. Forget _flirting_ — the one time the guy raised his head, Sting had turned around so fast that Natsu spilled his drink. He couldn’t even look him in the eye.

“Hey, isn’t that Gajeel?”

Sting turned in his seat to look where Natsu was pointing, raising his eyebrows when he spotted their friend. The teenager was groggily scratching his fingers through his long hair, and, to Sting’s greater surprise, seating himself directly in front of Sting’s crush. Sting sat up a little bit higher in his seat, nowhere close to being discreet. His crush looked up at Gajeel and smiled the tiniest bit, opening his mouth for the first time to say something Sting couldn’t hear. Gajeel let out his usual gruff of laughter and the two seemed to hold a steady conversation for a minute. Sting’s heart sank. Gajeel wasn’t gay, but at this point it didn’t register in Sting’s mind— he could only focus on the fact that Gajeel was talking to the hunk like an old friend, and _he_ was not.

Natsu and Sting had both been intently staring at the pair for over a minute before something that Sting would never have expected to happen happened. Both Gajeel and the man turned to Sting at the same time, startling him. His cheeks betrayed him and flushed aggressively as the man he’d been staring at for days looked him straight in the eye for the first time, lip tugged to the side and eyes curious. Sting gulped, but couldn’t find the strength to look away. After a moment of the man looking him up and down he seemed to make some kind of decision and turned to Gajeel again.

To Sting’s utter horror, both Gajeel and his crush stood up, making their way over directly to his table. He whipped around in his seat, eyes wide. Natsu seemed to be confused as he was, but nowhere as nervous. “What do I do?” Sting whispered frantically, but his friend only shrugged.

"Yo, this is Rogue, the one I was talking about." Gajeel introduced, suddenly appearing at the table. Sting diverted his eyes from the literal god standing behind him and focused on Gajeel. "This is Sting, and Natsu."

"Oh, the one that needs a place to live?" Natsu asked, interested. He extended a hand to the stranger. "The name’s Natsu."

The words slipped from Sting’s mouth before he could censor them. “He just said that, asshat.” The teenager froze up, realizing that that might have sounded rude to a stranger, when it was in fact a quite affectionate name Sting had adopted for his friend. 

To his surprise, though, Rogue only gave a small laugh, and Sting’s muscles relaxed, turning in his seat to finally face the man.

The stranger nodded politely to his grinning friend, accepting the handshake. “Rogue.” He had a dark, scratchy, and yes, _hot_ (at least, in Sting’s opinion) voice. “Gajeel told me that… Sting? That you’re looking for a roommate.” If it was actually possible to choke on his own spit, Sting would’ve, but instead he opted with making a bewildered face, averting his eyes to Gajeel for an answer. The taller man didn’t change his straight face, but if one looked close enough, they’d notice his lip quirking to the side.

Realizing that everyone else was waiting for him to speak, Sting cleared his throat, looking hard enough to Gajeel that the man had no choice but to look back. “You didn’t tell me you were going around telling people.” He said this with a hint of accusation in his voice, or maybe more than a hint, Sting never _was_ great with subtlety. Gajeel opened his mouth to speak, but Rogue cut him off without thinking about it.

"Gajeel didn’t tell you?" Rogue asked, just realizing. "I apologize, then. I was planning to treat you to dinner tonight, maybe get your number and talk about rent, but—"

"T-treat me to dinner?"

"…Yes." Rogue said slowly, tilting his head. "But you’re probably busy, I’m sorry for bothering y—"

"I’d love to."

Rogue raised his brow. “You’d love to?”

"8 o’clock, the Oliver Garden on Route 1. Bring a check book." Sting said, trying his best to look cool. Or tough-in-public, whatever. Either way, he was squealing like a girl on the inside.

"That’d be perfect," Rogue concluded, showing a rare smile. With a nod to him, and then Gajeel and Natsu, he turned and walked away. Sting gazed after him.

"Oi, lovebird’s got a date, has he?" Gajeel said, snapping his fingers in front of Sting’s face. The blonde scowled, whacking his fingers away.

"Who else did you tell I was looking for a roommate?" he asked, trying his best to look irritated.

"No one." When Sting’s eyes narrowed the slightest, Gajeel continued. "Flaming Hot Cheeto here told me you had a crush on Rogue yesterday. You’re welcome."

Sting looked surprised, then annoyed again. “I don’t have a _crush_ on him.” he muttered, crossing his arms. Gajeel and Natsu exchanged a strange look, then bursted into laughter, doubling over. Sting’s wretched blush returned to his face, and he stood up, swatting at his guffawing friends. “H-hey, shut up!” His efforts were without success and he stood, embarrassed, as the two friends slapped their knees in hysteria.

Although not in the best mood, Sting figured the teasing was worth it. After all, it meant he’d be seeing Rogue later. Which Rogue, you ask? The hot one. Really hot. And Sting was going to dinner with him. Him. The super fucking hot one.

The laughter abruptly died in Natsu and Gajeel’s throats as the high pitched squeal emitted from their friend’s mouth.


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a lot of you were asking for a second chapter, so here it is!! thank you all so much for the incredible amount of hits this story has gotten :)

Rogue checked his watch for the third time in the last five minutes. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek and he tried to hide the disappointment on his face.

Sting was late. Like-- _really_ late. It’d been more than half an hour since the agreed on 8 o’clock and Rogue was sitting alone at a table for two in the designated Olive Garden on Route 1-- which, by the way, was nearly a twenty minute drive for Rogue himself. If he had to make the twenty minutes back with an empty stomach and no progress on his home situation, Gajeel was gonna pay.

His piercing clad friend wasn’t exactly always trustworthy when it came to introducing him to people, especially if the time he’d set him up on a blind date with someone he’d found on an _“Emo dating site or something”_ meant anything. But when he’d suggested a friend named Sting as a potential roommate, and then pointed at the single most handsome man in the entire cafeteria, Rogue had had trouble refusing. Meeting the guy and learning that he was about six different kinds of endearing hadn’t hurt either.

The late part, though, he was starting to get tired of. As interested as he was in meeting with Sting, he was also really in need of a place to stay. His roommate had kicked him out nearly three days ago, and staying at Gajeel’s was a lot worse than it sounded. The man sang in his _sleep_.

Rogue was finally beginning to consider just leaving altogether when the door to the small Olive Garden flew open. “Rogue!”

The stares that the exclamation drew were lost on the pale blonde man hanging in the doorway. He was dressed in a pair of black slacks and a gray button down folded to the elbows, but most evidently, he appeared to have eyes only for Rogue. A nervous looking waitress rose from behind the front desk, but Rogue simply stood and held out a hand. “Please excuse him. He’s with me.” The lady sat back down, eyes following Sting as he made slowly his way over to the table, seating himself in front of Rogue.

“Um, hey,” he began. He winced at his somewhat lame starter. “Sorry about being late. You know, traffic.”

“I understand,” Rogue said carefully, reaching over to take a sip from a tall glass. Sting reveled in the fact that he didn’t actually look _angry_. Rogue cleared his throat. “I finished the breadsticks, though, so. You’re going to have to deal.” The genuinely disappointed look on the face of the man across from his made Rogue bite back a smile. 

“Did you order yet?” Sting asked, reaching across the table to pick up one of the glossy menus. His eyes skimmed the appetizers, glancing up a few times to check on his date. Companion. Crush. Fuck.

“No, but I always get the chicken parm,” Rogue admitted, oblivious to the crashing and burning happening in the head of the man across from him. “I was waiting.”

“Right... Right. Sorry about that.”

“You already apologized,” Rogue reminded him, amused.

“I did, didn’t I?” Sting forced a strained sound from his throat, probably meant to be a laugh of some sort. His forehead gleamed with a thin sheen of sweat, and he felt like the flames in his mind were about to make him combust altogether. “Sorry.” He cringed at his mistake. “Wait, _fuck_ , no…”

To the Sting’s surprise, the man across from him started laughing. It was the first time he’d seen him do so, and he found himself mesmerized with the image. He tried to memorize every detail, from the quirk of his lip and the flaring of his Roman statue nose to the way his chin lowered to meet his chest. Sting’s shoulders immediately fell, relaxing. The fire raging in his head simmered.

Rogue rose his gaze to Sting once more, red eyes shining. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh at you, you’re just… You’re kind of adorable, Sting.”

.

.

.

“ _You’re kind of adorable, Sting._ ”

It wouldn’t be exaggerating to say Sting’s head literally lit ablaze. Rogue’s brow rose in concern as the man across from him was suddenly dyed currant red till the tips of his ears. The _tips_. “Sting?”

“LET’S ORDER,” Sting practically shouted, looking anywhere but his date. Companion. Crush. _Fuck_.

Conversation slowed down a bit, much to Sting’s own chagrin. He had already deemed himself completely helpless in the talky-thinky department when it came to Rogue. He couldn’t honestly say he understood why. He’d flirted and kept his cool around his fair share of good looking guys, and he knew he wasn’t so sore on the eyes either. But when it came to Rogue, it’s was like that episode of Spongebob that Natsu always made him rewatch-- the one where Spongebob had to empty his head of anything that didn’t have to do with being a waiter in order to help Squidward not fuck up. To impress Squilliam or something like that? Although, in his own case, Sting wished he hadn’t ended up emptying his head of anything that wasn’t looking like an idiot. Repeatedly.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He tried to nonchalantly peek at the latest text and failed when its contents nearly make him spit out the lemonade in his mouth.

Rogue flashed a confused look, but Sting ignored him, reading over the text with misplaced annoyance. “ _so hows the date w/prince emo goin_ ”.

“ _nOT A DATE_ ” Sting responded, practically punching the keys.

“ _yeah, yeah whatever. gajeel wants u to know he’s super gay, btw_ ”

“ _i did NOT NEED TO… wait rlly?_ ”

“ _‘not a date’ mhmmm’_ ”

“Something wrong?” Rogue asked after a few moments, noticing the newfound irritableness in the man’s face.

“Ha, no, just an asshat of a friend.”

“The pink-haired guy…?” Rogue asked gently and Sting snorted lightly, not having to nod.

“ _SHUT UP. why’re you even with gajeel? shouldnt you be at my house, stealing my food??_ ”

“ _nah actually im at his place. thot i should clear out, in case u bring home ur dude home and do like… weird gay stuff_ ”

Sting fought the urge to blush and scream at the same time. He _wished_ he was doing _weird gay stuff_.

They ordered drinks and food after a while-- Sting immediately cringed when he ordered a lemonade from the kids menu and Rogue picked some fancy wine that Sting couldn’t pronounce even if he tried.

“So,” Sting coughed, steepling his hands awkwardly on the table.“Rent.”

“Yes,” Rogue, sitting up higher. “It almost slipped my mind. How much?”

“Well, uh, splitting it, you’d have to pay... 540 a month?” Sting finished uncertainly. Because wow, talking money was definitely the way to get a guy to like you.

“Is that a question?” Rogue returned, smirk playing on his lips. Sting gulped.

“No! I mean,” Sting reached up to comb back his hair, holding back a groan. “Not a question. 540 a month… Please.”

The smirk never left Rogue’s face. “Well, since you asked so nicely.” A slow curve of the lips filled Sting’s face as well, and the pair smiled stupidly at each other for a few seconds before Sting’s damned cheeks betrayed him and he had to look away. 

His nerves still hadn’t quite paused their persistent dancing, but let his hand fall from their tight wind in his hair and worked his way through the double cheese ravioli set in front of him. Rogue was undeniably a nice guy-- _too_ nice-- and was obviously trying very hard to make the best out of the trainwreck he was having dinner with. 

The trainwreck was grateful. As the hour progressed, he felt his stiff back loosen its seams, felt the button holding his brow together break, and most of all, he felt himself falling even further head over heels for Rogue Cheney.

He’d told him his last name a while ago-- said he thought it was a pretty essential piece of information for someone he was planning on living with. Sting couldn’t fight the stupid grin that broke free at this, and suddenly, the cramped, loud Olive Garden wasn’t the least bit confining for his delight. They no longer had the burden of small talk hanging over their heads, instead moving on to talk about Sting’s crazy neighbors that you just had to get used to after a while (“ _That_ Natsu? You know, he _was_ giving off that pyro kind of vibe,”), about how he was going to have to deal with the shower that liked to randomly spit out ice cold water in the mornings sometimes, and their Gajeel, sharing a laugh at the mutual memory of the time he’d been taken to airport security for refusing to remove all thirty of his piercings. It was a story he told often, apparently.

It had to have stretched longer than the standard hour, and their dinner plates lay forgotten at the edge of the table, drinks long past drained. Rogue leaned forward on the table, long arms folded and and tapping across the table. “You know, I’m actually looking for an apartment because my old roommate pretty much kicked me out of my last one,” he confided, attempting to flag down a waitress.

Sting’s eyes bugged out. “Seriously? I can’t imagine someone not wanting to live with you.” Rogue raised a brow and Sting reddened. “I mean-- oh, god, you know what I mean,” Sting said lamely, covering his eyes. His nearly jumped out of his chair when a cool hand covered his own, peeling it away from his face.

His mouth opened and closed a few times, words clogged in his throat, but Rogue simply shrugged off his bewilderment, turning to speak to the waiter at their tableside. “A water, please.” His tone was too relaxed for Sting to handle.

He got over it quickly, though, the way he got over every other single thing the other man had done that evening that made him both confused and reminiscent of a tomato. As they split the bill and waited for desserts, Sting took another moment to stare at Rogue out of the corner of his eye. He was smiling at some giggling baby behind them, eyes crinkled and small dimples showing that made Sting happy just by existing.

There had been a genuine (and most abnormal) shift between when Sting had entered the restaurant and now. Maybe it was the wine Rogue had let him snag from his glass, or the fact that this was the first date he’d been on in months, but for whatever reason, he felt much more certain that Rogue wasn’t going anywhere. He’d actually gotten through the meal without scaring him away.

“So I heard you’re gay?” Sting froze, his mouth clamping shut. Had he just-- did that really come out of his mouth?

Rogue looked a bit taken aback but replied nonetheless. “Yes… who told you that?”

Sting considered being honest, but then that would raise the question of _Why would Gajeel tell you that?_ or, _Why would you ask about that?_ He took the coward’s route, forcing out a strangled laughing sound and saying the first thing that came to mind. “I have to pee.” _FUCK_.

He shot up from his seat-- probably not the best decision-- and promptly knocked straight into an oncoming waitress. The young woman shrieked and fumbled for a hold on her tray, but the damage was done-- a pitcher of water flew off of it and… dumped itself directly over Rogue’s head. It clattered to the floor beside him.

Sting gawked. At the woman staring angrily at him, at the silence that had swept through the restaurant and the disapproving eyes staring holes through his skin. But mostly, he gawked at the man still sitting at the table across from him, eyes wide and ebony hair soaked to the tips.

“I--” Sting shrunk under the spotlight, feeling his feet taking slow steps away from the table. “I’m--” His eyes darted around the room, but he couldn’t look anywhere for more than a few seconds before returning to Rogue, his disheveled appearance making him feel ten different kinds of guilt. 

The man in question rose slowly from his chair. “Sting--” Sting mistook the gentle hand placed in the air for something much worse, and flinched, his feet working more rapidly towards the front door. He thought he let an _I’m sorry_ fall off his tongue, and he thought he heard another call of his name before he slipped through the wooden doors, but he really couldn’t think straight once he was bombarded with the frigid winter air. He didn’t stop there, sprinting along the brick building and making a beeline for his car.

Sting paused at the corner of the building though, head raised to the heavens and nose tickled by the evening breeze. He clenched his eyes shut, unable to keep the events from replaying in his head. Rogue’s eyes wide, his mouth dropped, the waitress’s shriek, the glares surrounding him, the silence deafening. Rogue’s eyes, the waitress’s shriek, the glares, the silence. Rogue’s eyes, the shriek, the glares, the silence, Rogue’s eyes, the shriek, the glares, Rogue’s eyes, the shriek, Rogue’s eyes, Rogue, Rogue, _Rogue_.

Sting felt like collapsing against the sidewalk and never getting up. He was such a failure. He couldn’t even go on a regular date-- he couldn’t even act normal enough to get a roommate that didn’t think he was some kind of spasmodic freak. He couldn’t even impress the one guy he cared about.

“Sting!”

He whirled around, breathe catching. Rogue was jogging down the remainder of the sidewalk, hair askew and eyes widening when they met Sting’s.

“Oh, thank god, I thought you’d already be in your car with the speed you ran out of there with,” Rogue admitted breathlessly. His fingers skimmed through his damp hair.

Sting was momentarily distracted by the action but his eyes were back on Rogue’s in an instant.“W-what are you doing here?”

Rogue tried a small grin. “What do you mean, what am I doing here? What’re _you_ doing out _here_?” When Sting couldn’t find the words to respond, he pressed on. “Pretty rude way to end a date.”

Sting gaped at the last word. “But, I-- _I dumped a pitcher of water on you!_ ” It came out more as a yell and he gulped, stepping back, his spine jolting when he hit the brick wall.

Rogue looked vaguely amused. “So?” His tone was too innocent to be true, and Sting must’ve known he was joking but it barely registered.

“ _So?!_ ” He exploded. “ _So_ , that’s a fucked up thing to do on a first da-- dinner! First dinner!” He shouted down at the overly calm-- _smug?_ \--looking man. “Not to mention that I was half an hour late, literally couldn’t go two seconds without making a fool of myself and-- and look at you!” He pointed violently at Rogue, causing him to raise a brow. “You’re soaked to the bone and shivering and somehow that makes you look even _more_ way out of my league!” He gripped at his flaxen hair, talking more to himself now than Rogue. “What was I thinking, inviting you out? How can I live with someone I can’t even look at without mentally _swooning_ \-- and I _fucking asked if you were gay who the fuck even does th_ \--”

His next words were cut off as a pair of firm but soft lips covered his own. Sting’s made a sort of strangled noise in his throat, eyes popping, but if Rogue noticed it didn’t show. His hands fell from where they were pulling at his hair, instead laying stupidly at his sides until the other man’s lips pulled away after a moment. His pulse stuttered as Rogue’s mouth lingered over his own for a hair’s breathe. “There,” Rogue said simply.

“You-- kiss-- what?” Sting stumbled, uncaring that he sounded like a toddler because _holy shit had Rogue just kissed him?_

“I don’t care that you’ve got about as much finesse as a walrus, Sting,” Rogue sighed bluntly. “And I don’t care that you prefer lemonade to wine, or that you don’t have a filter, or even that you think looking away every few seconds means I can’t see you staring at me.” Sting let out a small whine and Rogue took a small step towards him. “I like all that about you. What I _don’t_ like,” he began, eyes narrowing a fraction. “Is that you run away every time I think I’ve got you opening up. You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do… this,” he finished, casting a lingering gaze on Sting’s lips. Sting’s breathe caught, his eyes glued to the blood red pair in front of him. 

Neither knew who moved first, but within a second their lips were molded against each other once more, each pushing with more fervor than the other. Rogue’s arm snaked around his waist, the other skimming the hard muscle hidden beneath Sting’s dress shirt and pressing him firmly into the wall behind him. The brick was jagged against his back, but Sting let himself be cornered, eager arms moving to curl at the base of Rogue’s neck, pulling gently at the loose curls there. The kiss deepened, became wet and hot and _absolutely divine_ as Sting opened his mouth and Rogue’s quick tongue darted around his, making Sting’s knees suddenly weak beneath him. He pressed into him further, their tongues fighting against each other and the incredible proximity doing wonders to Sting’s hormones.

Rogue pulled away a second later, panting. Sting opened his mouth to protest but all that came out was a low moan as a pair of swollen lips latched onto his neck, sucking at the sensitive skin. Sting craned his neck upward, allowing him access, and moved a hand from Rogue’s neck to the small of his back, pulling him closer. His breath was ragged, uncontrolled as determined lips works their way across his collar bone and to the lobe of his ear. He groaned when Rogue’s teeth scraped at a particularly sensitive area below his jaw. “ _Fuck_.”

Sting finally felt him pull away, and his eyes cracked open to find an equally breathless Rogue centimeters away from him. Their nose bumped and foreheads rested against each other. Their quiet gasps filled the wintry night.

“Probably not the best thing to be doing outside an Olive Garden,” Sting said after a minute of peaceful nothings. Rogue chuckled, sending vibrations down Sting’s spine.

“Probably not.”

Sting waited another moment to speak again, afraid of shattering the mood. “Hey… d’you wanna come back to my place?” When Rogue rose a mocking brow, Sting flushed, looking away. “O-only because you’re a potential roommate, and you know, you should probably come see the place anyw--” Rogue cut him off once more, pressing his lips against Sting’s pink ones in a smooth, swooping gesture. Sting kissed back just as earnestly, and this time it was him who pulled away first.

“I’m gonna take that as a yes,” he grinned, and the dark haired man fell against him in an uncontained fit of laughter.

.

.

.

Sting was glad Natsu wasn’t in his apartment that night, because they ended up doing a _lot_ of weird gay stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok but real talk: don't fuck your roommate, that only works out well in fanfiction. comments are appreciated! (whispers: as are kudos)


End file.
